


how long can you stand the heat

by Biggus Slickus (crownlessliestheking)



Series: at the end of the day [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Discussions of Kidnapping, Established Relationship, Friendship, Humanstuck, It's not jealousy if you refuse to recognize it, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Polyamory, Slick also vandalizes a table, The Author's Self Indulgence, Touching, intimacy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/Biggus%20Slickus
Summary: An unmarked car and a gun and a gag and it wouldn't be a problem, you tell the boss, and there's a thunk and the table shudders as he puts a knife right in it an inch away from your hand.Shut the fuck up already, he says, ain't no need to make a problem and seriously what the fuck is wrong with you that you wanna go make one.
Relationships: Diamonds Droog/Spades Slick, Diamonds Droog/Spades Slick/Dirk Strider, Dirk Strider/Spades Slick
Series: at the end of the day [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821157
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	how long can you stand the heat

**Author's Note:**

> It Keeps Happening.
> 
> You don't need to read the rest of the series to really get this but I'd recommend 'call me mr. fahrenheit' because that's more- filler/setup for it.

An unmarked car and a gun and a gag and it wouldn't be a problem, you tell the boss, and there's a thunk and the table shudders as he puts a knife right in it an inch away from your hand. 

Shut the fuck up already, he says, ain't no need to make a problem and seriously what the fuck is wrong with you that you wanna go make one.

You ain't making a problem, you insist, and you keep watching the small group through slitted eyes as you keep waiting for Strider to shake off the guy's touch like he always does anyone else's. The dames don't get under your skin 'cause they look like they've got goddamn common sense. You know the one with the scarf anyway, she's Strider's cousin and you'd have spotted they were family even if you didn't know that, and she's been sipping on nothing but water here and you're willing to bet the same for wherever they've been. From what he's said you know she's whip-smart and a crack shot with a rifle- you finally got him to tell you one of the folks who tried to teach him to shoot. You don't know the one with the red glasses from seeing 'em together but you know damn well who Jane fuckin' Crocker is seeing as you've been by her pops's bakery every day for six years now and the man wears a hat and a crisp white shirt better than most anyone you know. Makes good pastry, too. You would grudgingly admit that Strider has good taste in friends if it weren't for the _other_ one.

Thing is, you know you ain't the only one who dislikes him. You know the boss, you can tell he ain't a fan of the guy. Problem is that it doesn't seem to be for the same reasons that _you_ don't like him, and that's kinda fuckin' disconcerting. He's barely watching them, actually. You figure if you asked why he’d say he the sight of such a fucking dumbass is gonna blind his one good eye and he’d like to keep it workin’ thanks, or something like that, so you don’t ask. But you also don’t stop looking.

He’s maybe four inches shorter than Strider, one or two shorter than you, but broad and built. Bright green eyes, brighter smile. Stupid fuckin’ buck teeth that you think anyone would’ve gotten braces or something for. He looks like a mook. You don’t think he could give anyone like Zahhak or Hearts a run for their money but you figure it’d come close and that he’d be alright in a fight if he didn’t look like he might start sobbing at having to throw a punch. But you have a whole goddamn laundry list of issues with this guy and a solid half of them are what he’s wearing, you didn’t fuckin’ think you’d seen worse than the shit that was in Strider’s wardrobe under casual attire or worse than what his brother wears on the regular for formal attire, and yet here this fucker is in shorts so miniscule you think that he should get booted out for not wearing pants, and an ugly-ass Hawaiian shirt with a bowtie and they’re both clashing shades of pink and green that catch the light horribly. Every time you look at that visual trainwreck it makes you want to rip the damn thing off, shoot it fulla holes, burn it, and then do the same thing to the idiots who decided to make and buy it, respectively.

That shirt is an eyesore, you tell Spades, and he tells you that’s why he’s not lookin’ else he’ll straight up commit homicide and then where are you two gonna be for the evening. Hiding evidence and getting rid of the body, you tell him. Yeah, he says, but we’re meeting the blonde asshole here afterwards so. Blonde asshole’s already here, you say, and gesture in their direction. Yeah so, he says, ain’t like I’m gonna show up when he tells me to, I’m not his fuckin’ pet dog.

You still don’t know why you’re here now when Strider’s given you (specifically you, not the boss, his reasoning being that Spades’ chronophobic ass was going to either show up after closing or be lurking waiting for him which was right on the damn money, although it didn’t work since Slick’s ignored you telling him you don’t gotta come now anyway) kind of an approximate time so you figure that maybe the boss wanted to keep an eye on him or something anyway. Business finished early tonight anyway so you can’t complain about staying out or even find an excuse.

Maybe your cuestick would be better than a gun, you tell the boss two minutes later when he’s still got an arm around Strider’s shoulder, and Slick hisses out a breath, sounding harrowed.

He says he can’t believe you’re making him do this. You tell him that you’re not making him do anything, that he’s the boss, so you’ve never made him do anything. You’ll concede that you sometimes advise him, sure, but make him do things? Never. Slick tells you to quit being so fuckin’ pedantic for five minutes and also stop glaring daggers at Strider’s friend.

You tell him you’re pretty sure that’s a tattoo on his arm to match the one Strider has, and he says yeah, he can’t believe some other dumb shit went and got that fuckin’ design on their body forever. You give him a look, because if you’d been a betting man you’d have put money on him being pissy about that, so you say has he met the guy before.

Slick tells you no, but Dirk talks about him sometimes. If you thought he had the foresight for it you’d say he was using Strider’s first name to get under your skin, but you know that they do that, just rarely enough that it always takes you by surprise. You don’t much like surprises.

(You haven’t told Strider your name yet, but he hasn’t asked. Slick says he’s pushy as fuck but he hasn’t been with you and you’re not bothered by it, you just don’t fuckin’ get what the discrepancy is.)

You don’t ask what it is he says, and the boss doesn’t tell you. Instead he says are they gonna be done soon or do I gotta get someone to boot them the fuck out, and you tell him he was the one who decided to show up here now instead of later. He says he’s allowed to like a bar Droog so fuck off with that, and you tell him sure, it’s a nice enough bar, that you stop by sometimes yourself, but he ain’t gotta pretend like he’s here for no reason.

He narrows his eyes at you but he’s not gonna call you a liar. You ain’t lying, anyway. You don’t need to do that. You turn back to watching the group that’s most definitely not aware that they’re being watched, although you notice that Strider turns to scan the place every so often, his face mostly blank. He doesn’t like being watched. He likes not being able to tell who’s doing the watching even less. You file that away to mull over later.

Five more minutes later and the arm has moved from around Strider’s shoulder to around his waist and you say that your cuestick is better than a gun for this one and he wouldn’t be smiling so hard after that encounter. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Droog, the boss says, and pinches at the bridge of his nose with metal fingers. Knock it the fuck off, he says, and you tell him you’re just thinking out loud and that it probably would be easy enough to grab that guy off the street, no fuss, would he even be missed. Slick tells you that yeah, fuckin’ obviously he would, this is why you ain’t the brains of the operation and none’a you have any fucking common sense sometimes which is why he has to do all the goddamn work.

You point out that he’s not on the job and neither are you, and he looks you dead in the eye and asks if this is personal then. No, you say, automatic. You don’t do personal shit. You might be taking personal fuckin’ offense to that outfit, though. Opposite of appreciation. But the boss has always been a hard sell so you know he ain’t buying that. You ain’t budging, though, ‘cause it’s not personal. Why the fuck would it be personal. Slick holds your gaze for a minute and you can see him getting more and more irate about it when you don’t say anything else.

Point of an ex is that it ended for a good fuckin' reason, he finally snarls at you, jabbing a finger into your chest. You want to snarl back that so what, plenty of relationships end for no good reason, but you don't, because you're more averse to causing a scene than the boss is. Admittedly, you’re tucked into a booth in a dark corner of the bar and barely anyone can see you, so it wouldn’t be much of a scene.

Instead, you just ask Slick what he’s trying to get at, real even, and he gives you a contemptuous look in response and tells you to get the fuck over yourself, he ain’t into big and dumb and if he was he’d be fuckin’ Boxcars and not either of you.

You say it’s nothing to you if he is into that, and it isn’t. Slick says that if it’s nothing then why the fuck are you so antsy, huh, and you tell him that you ain’t antsy either. He yanks the knife outta the table and points it at you, half-threatening, and you tell him to knock that off. You tell him that you just didn’t know Strider was into that whole touching thing.

What touching thing, he wants to know, and it’s your turn to give him a look that borders on contemptuous ‘cause you’re good at toeing the line with the boss, usually. You watch his gaze slide over to them and his eyes narrow, and then he just- exhales and looks at you and says yeah, what about it, and you say what does he mean what about it.

The contempt in his look ratchets up and he tells you he ain’t a fan of the touching thing either which you should know so Strider ain’t fuckin’ pawing all over him obviously. You tell him that you do know, but you leave it at that for now, even though it still makes your skin crawl some.

Slick’s not done, but you figured he wouldn’t be ‘cause he’s never one to leave well-enough alone unless it’s fuckin’ convenient for him. He tells you that if you don’t want him touching you all you gotta do is say it, and probably not even that ‘cause the guy’s fuckin’ got a stick up his ass about noticing how people react to him. You tell him that you’ve noticed that. You tell him it’s hard not to.

You don’t tell him that you think he’s still on edge around you, so instead you say how long did it take for him to relax, and Slick asks if he seems the kind of person who knows what the fuck relaxation is, and you have to concede that Strider’s so high strung he’d probably snap before the tension left.

You don’t say that he doesn’t seem all that tense now, but sometimes you forget that the boss can be fuckin’ observant when he wants to be and that he knows you as well as you know him, ‘cause he doesn’t always bring it to the light, and he tells you that of fuckin’ course Dirk ain’t gonna be tense, he trusts them and has known ‘em for fuckin’ ever. First name again. You say, maybe a little pointed, that does that mean Strider doesn’t trust either of you, and the boss eyes you for a long moment before deciding a reply ain’t worth his time and taking a long drink from his glass before slamming it down.

You repeat it, and he says does he look like his fuckin’ babysitter or his diary or some shit to know who he trusts. You can’t tell if you’ve hit a sore point here or if he’s pissy about you saying it twice to get him to answer. Boss doesn’t like it when anyone forces his hand, not even like that. So you just say no he doesn’t look like a babysitter but he looks like the kinda person who’d ask, and he says sure, he’s asked, and leaves it at that.

You want a smoke.

The boss starts carving up the table with the kind of intense focus that means he’s thinking hard about something else, so you keep your mouth shut and get yourself a cigarette from your case. The music’s loud and not to your taste at all and it sinks into the pulp of your teeth and you grit them to ignore the thrum of the bass. You ain’t the kinda man who listens to a lotta techno or pop or whatever fuckin’ genre this is, you favor blues and jazz, usually. You tune it out as best you can.

Shorts’s hand drifts a little close to Strider’s neck and you watch him finally lean away, just subtle enough that you don’t think anyone fuckin’ else notices. Least of all Shorts himself. You haven’t exactly tried to touch his neck much- you don’t exactly have much reason for it, and putting your hand on someone else’s throat ain’t ever ended well for the other person. You wonder if the aversion’d be applicable to you for the same reason as it is to Shorts over there. You wonder if all that contact’s a normal fuckin’ thing for people, or if Strider’s friends are just strange that way, ‘cause you didn’t think Strider himself was. Least, he ain’t ever mentioned it to you, and you don’t think he’s mentioned it to the boss. You think about how you ain’t ever really wanted it that much yourself, and that’s where it starts to get under your skin even more. You ain’t a physical guy that way. You think about the sound of bone cracking under your cuestick and the wet heat of blood on your hands. You think about fingers and digging them into skin and how easy people bruise if you squeeze hard enough, but that’s more the boss’s style than yours, or Boxcars. It’s a lotta work for something you don’t need to put that much effort into.

You finish your cigarette, and light another. This time, you offer it out to the boss, who takes it and doesn’t give it back. You tell him to get his own after a solid minute of waiting. You have no idea what he’s carving into the table, not with the lighting too dim to make it out properly. He tells you to fuck off and he’ll give it back when you’re done being a fuckin’ creep and staring. You tell him you’re done and he still doesn’t give it back. You tell him that he ain’t even really smoking, and he says he already told you to fuck off. You press your lips into a flat line and give him an unimpressed look that he ignores completely in favor of looking down at his phone. Bastard, you say, and you light up a third smoke for yourself. You know when a fight’s lost.

It’s because of this that you lose track of them for a while, and it’s a good ten minutes before you spot Strider slipping back in alone and scanning the place, more purposeful as he loiters at the entrance. When Slick lifts his hand in a lazy wave, you see the surprise flit across his face for a second before he comes on over and slides into the booth.

He announces that he’s kinda tipsy, to the table at large, and puts his head down on folded hands. Slick says he can fuckin’ tell how much did you even have, and he says he switched to water a little while ago so he’s not drunk but he’ll need more water if he doesn’t want to be hungover. He says that he hates hangovers. Slick says well it fuckin’ sucks to be you, ‘cause he’s never been hungover a day in his life.

There’s a quiet grumble, but no response. Slick reaches over and tugs at his hair to get his attention, and there’s a louder grumble. You notice that he _does_ swat at the boss’s hand anyway, but that Strider ain’t trying too hard to get rid of it and the boss withdraws his fingers anyway so it’s a moot point.

What, he says.

How’s the fuckin’ baby, Spades sneers.

What fucking baby, you want to know but don’t ask.

God, he’s fine, Strider just sighs out, and sits up properly with his chin in one hand. Same as ever. Exhausting, a little, he adds, like he doesn’t want to say it. Jake’s his best bro and all, he says, but sometimes he just wants to shake some fucking sense into him and also teach him what volume control and an indoor voice is.

You know what the fucking baby is now.

You venture that scaring some sense into him might work better, and Strider gives you a blank look. It’s better than what the boss does, which is kick you hard under the table and you know damn well there’s gonna be a shoeprint on your goddamn slacks and a bruise on your shin under ‘em.

Strider says if that was the case then he’d be a genius by now, but he doesn’t sound too bothered by it. Slick scowls and mutters something under his breath that neither of you catch, but Strider tells him to chill, and that he’s less of a baby now than he was before, and frankly the amount of luck Jake has had so far is probably a superpower of some kind so he’s probably allowed to avoid all his problems. Even if Strider, personally, doesn’t think that’s tenable as a solution to anything.

Slick says luck always runs out and Strider tells him to stop sounding like a shitty fortune cookie else he’ll regale him with all the brand new Avatar facts he’s accumulated this evening. Boss tells him that if even one word about space furries passes his lips it’ll be good fuckin’ cause for a stabbing and Strider says if he has to _hear_ more about the shitty blue space furries and his ex’s fetish for them he’ll welcome the fucking stabbing.

You decide that you were absolutely correct not to like the guy draping himself all over Strider and everyone else and also that you never want to know any of the details about that. You only say that second part. Strider sighs and says he guesses he can be generous and spare you the details but fuck, man, this is the reason he has nothing to say about your Grey Ladies.

Well first of all, you tell him as Slick fucking cackles ‘cause he’s an asshole, you don’t just leave your shit lying around, you know what discretion is, and second, your appreciation for fine fuckin’ art is nothing in comparison to whatever it was he just said his old boyfriend was obsessed with.

Strider tells you that yeah, you have an admirable talent for discretion, but that when it comes down to it he’s probably being a hypocrite because furry porn makes money, and it turns out that Slick has some shred of mercy in him ‘cause while you try to process where the fuck to even start dissecting that, he slaps a hand over Strider’s mouth and tells him to shut the fuck up and how dare he even mention that near him, don’t be so goddamn gross in public.

You can tell that Strider is tipsy because after a second Slick yanks his hand back and looks so fuckin’ disgusted it nearly makes you shudder in sympathy, at least until he shoves his whole hand right back into Strider’s face and wipes it off, and Strider is actually fucking laughing, isn’t he, and you don’t know what to think about that either. Slick ain’t laughing but he’s not the type to usually, and it’s probably a good fuckin’ thing he ain’t ‘cause you’d be seriously wondering who the hell roofied you if that was the case.

You tell them to cut it out but you’re still thinking about how Slick touches him and how they both let it happen, and all it does is make you crave a drink and a smoke, so it comes out sharper than you mean to, and they both look at you. Boss narrows his eyes and asks what the fuck’s the tone about and you tell him it’s been a long day even though it hasn’t and he knows it. Strider’s just watching you with half-lidded eyes and you’ve gotten somewhat used to seeing ‘em now since he’s not a complete freak and doesn’t wear the specs if he’s out at night, but sometimes it’s worse when you can tell he’s looking at you but still not what he’s thinking.

(You came into this knowing that yeah, you were gonna have to share Slick but you’ve always had to share the boss with someone or something- work, Snowman, that one annoying detective a couple years back- so you figured you’d be fine with it, and you are. You didn’t have any problems with them, and you ain’t the kinda guy to have problems when it ain’t your business like it wasn’t then, but it is now. But Strider was unobtrusive enough once you’d gotten used to him being there that you figured he’d fit alright, and you’d never been all that bothered about him once you knew what was going on. Thing was, you were prepared to be jealous of him since he and the boss have something different to what you and the boss have. You weren’t prepared for wanting to have something different with him to what he and the boss have, and you’re still tucking that thought away for never unless under extreme duress.)

He says that if it’s a long day then you’d better head home. He says that he should probably head off as well, chug some water before bed and crash. Slick asks if he’s gonna get a car or if he wants company on the walk, and you realize the boss means himself and not the two of you walking him back, so you say why not head to yours since it’s closer anyhow, without actually thinking about what’s coming out your damn mouth. That ain’t a good habit to get into. It ain’t something you’ve had trouble with before, either.

Both of them stare at you harder. It’s fifteen minutes walking, you say. Closer by far than the forty to Slick’s and the half hour to Strider’s.

Strider’s never been to your place. The boss has, but not often, so he’s the one who looks suspicious instead of just mildly confused.

Strider just asks if you got anywhere to be in the morning ‘cause he probably won’t be awake early, and you look at the boss, and he says no, you don’t, so you say it’ll be fine if he sleeps in. He looks at you for a long while and then asks is this is going to be the easiest kidnapping on the planet if he just agrees to go with you.

Slick tells him his anxious little mind is real fuckin’ entertaining and he says he’s here all week, tragically, and you point out that your kidnappings have a hell of a lot more class than just duping someone into coming home with you, and why would you take someone you’re kidnapping home, anyway? Secondary locations are important, you tell him. He says that he has no idea where you live so you could be taking him to the secondary location anyway, he just wouldn’t know it. You tell him he’s being real paranoid for a guy whose other option is to get his own drunk ass home, and that the cab driver could also kidnap him just fine. He says he’s never really been kidnapped before, but it’s better the evil he knows, right.

Boss asks if anyone’s tried to kidnap him before ‘cause of his brother and Strider thinks real hard about that for a moment and says someone got grabby once when he still lived around LA and he knocked them down on sheer reflex before scramming, but that he’s not sure if it was a bad attempt at picking his pocket or what. He adds that if they’d gone to the trouble of drugging him or something it probably would’ve gone down differently and that he’d at least be sure it was a kidnapping then, and probably therefore related to his brother. Slick says that if they’d come even near his face with a chloroform-soaked rag or any shit like that they’d have ended up with worse than a few bruises, and Strider nods a little and says yeah, hadn’t really gotten a handle on that one back then. It takes you a second to realize that Slick’s not talking about himself.

You break in to say that this ain’t a kidnapping and the boss wouldn’t let you do that anyway, and that if it was you’d have put something in his drink at the bar, and Strider says that he always keeps an eye on his drinks so maybe you’d need to knock him out in the alley or something. You ask him if he’s telling you how to kidnap him, and then interrupt his answer because this conversation is getting out of hand. Is it your place or what, you say.

Boss agrees that it is your place, ‘cause he wants to see what Strider thinks of it. You tell him that there’s nothing wrong with where you live, thanks, and get to your feet. You’re craving that smoke even more now, and you’re lighting up almost before you even leave the bar, Strider and Slick trailing behind you.

You notice he’s steady on his feet. You notice the boss walking kinda close to him anyway. Not close enough that their arms do anything more than brush together occasionally. It ain’t like they look like a couple, or even all that much like friends, not with the sneer on Slick’s face and the way Strider’s expression is set at neutral-don’t-talk-to-me even though his cheeks are faintly pink from the alcohol. You kinda think that if anyone saw these two assholes walking along behind you and they didn’t know who you were, they might call the cops to report an imminent mugging.

So you fall back to join them never mind the fact that you’re meant to be leading them, but the boss knows the way to your place, and you slot into a spot on Strider’s other side and watch for his fuckin’ reaction like a hawk, and then see absolutely fuckin’ nothing.

You ain’t the kinda man to care all that much if folks are comfortable around you and it usually works out that their discomfort is a good fuckin’ thing, so you don’t know what it is specifically about the fact that he’s taking real good care not to actually touch you that’s getting under your skin some. Maybe not now, but he fuckin’ obviously has been if tonight’s any measure of how he usually is.

The walk back to yours is quiet, ‘cause you’re not like Slick and you don’t live in the seediest fuckin’ part of town- you’re in a damn respectable place, normal apartment building. On the nice side, but not too nice. There’s an elevator and everything, which the three of you crowd into, and Strider murmurs something about being warned about the stairs which you know is a thing from his brother’s movies but decide to ignore, and gets elbowed in the side for it by Slick who decided not to ignore it. It’s a small elevator and he’s still tipsy enough that he loses his balance and knocks right into you before he can straighten himself up. You eye the boss, ‘cause you know that wasn’t fuckin’ accidental, and he ignores your look completely.

Strider straightens himself up in a hurry with a muffled apology. You tell him it’s fine, curt. Your suit ain’t wrinkled after all, no harm done. He looks at you for a long moment before nodding. You lead them down the hallway and to your apartment when the elevator doors open again, and tell both of them to take their shoes off although you’re looking at the boss when you say it. He hisses something out at you under his breath but listens. Your respective hats get hung up, and Strider asks which way the kitchen is so he can have that water. You just direct him to the couch instead, and he gives you another look before sitting.

You wonder what it is your apartment looks like through his eyes, as you lock up and then see about that water. You don’t bother offering the boss anything; he knows where everything is and where to get it if he wants. You hear him asking Strider well what d’you think, and Strider says that it’s nice, except his voice lifts just a little in a question mark. Your Grey Ladies are put away nice and neat, you’ve got this morning’s paper on the coffee table, and you know damn well this place is clean and orderly ‘cause you ain’t the kind of messy freak to leave shit just lying around. Strider says that it’s minimalist, after a second, and you can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or a bad so you figure that you like it and that should be good enough for everyone else. You don’t know why the boss is so fuckin’ insistent about needling you on your place, just ‘cause you keep things neat. Everything has its spot, ain’t nothing wrong about that.

The conversation cuts off when you come back. You press the glass of water into his hands as Slick prowls around, only occasionally eyeing the two of you, and you know you ain’t the only one who’s on edge because of it. Strider takes a long, slow sip, sighs in relief. Thanks, he says, he needed that. You nod and settle down onto the couch next to him.

Deliberately close this time, and you watch him watch you almost warily as he leans a little further against the arm of the couch.

Christ, Slick says from somewhere behind you. What the fuck are you two even doing over there.

Sitting, Strider tells him, after another sip of water. He says it’s kind of obvious, man. He asks if Slick’s going to join you, and Slick says no, not on your fuckin’ uncomfortable couch, and he’s going to take a piss and you’d better stop being so fuckin’ awkward by the time he gets back or else.

You tell him you didn’t need to know that, and your only response is the bathroom door slamming.

Strider looks at it for a moment, and then at you, and asks if this is awkward. He clarifies that he’s not asking ‘cause he’s had too much to drink and thinks he’s missing social cues here- the walk and the water’s got him just about sober, which you figure is true, but that he doesn’t feel all that awkward. He asks if he’s missed something else in the tone of voice that makes you think he’s gonna think about it for the rest of his fuckin’ life if that’s what it takes to figure it out.

You lean into him again, deliberate, and he leans away some until he can’t lean anymore and you’re just barely pressed against his side. He’s warm, but you lean back away anyhow.

Yeah, that, you say, and then narrow your eyes when he’s still just looking at you. You want to know what he’s looking at you that way for, and he tells you that he’s not a very tactile person.

And your friends’re all over you ‘cause you don’t like touching, right, you say, sharp and snappy and you have to hiss out a slow breath to rein it in ‘cause that’s not what you need to be right now. He says that his friends have known him for fucking ever, and besides some of them are just real touchy. Jane’s not like that, he points out, so they don’t touch that much. You don’t say anything, ‘cause it wasn’t Jane Crocker that was doing all the touching.

He’s quiet for a moment too, and you swear you can hear the damn gears turning in his head, and you don’t want to say anything about it so you’ll wait for him to. He’s got a real fuckin’ talent for dragging things into the open when you don’t want them there.

Strider doesn’t disappoint. He asks, real quiet, if you have a problem with him not touching you that much, and you say no on reflex, but you’re not the boss and you can have a fucking calm conversation so you tell him it’s something you’ve noticed and it’s made you wonder is all.

He says not to wonder. He also says that he wasn’t really sure how allowed it was. You say what does he mean by allowed, and he’s quiet again, like he’s thinking specifically about every word before he speaks. He does that sometimes when he wants to be particularly careful, and you know to wait. Strider says that with Slick he usually waits for him to initiate any contact ‘cause he knows Slick likes it even less than he does, but that he also knows he can touch him sometimes without getting stabbed or anything. He says it’s about picking and choosing the times, mostly, and that he’s getting better about it. He says that he hasn’t figured that out with you yet, and that wasn’t the answer you were expecting, not by a long damn shot.

You light up another cigarette and take a long drag, and then offer it to him. He looks at you for a moment and takes it, and you watch him put his mouth over where yours was, no problem. You tell him that you don’t have the same issues with touching as the boss does. You tell him that when you’re not on the clock it’s fine. He passes the smoke back to you, turns his head away to exhale so as not to get it in your face.

He thanks you for telling him that, all formal. He says that it still took him a while to work up to touching Slick himself. Reputation, he adds. He says that he’s still working on that with you.

You ask if you make him nervous. He says no, not really. You remind him he was nervous the whole time a month and some change ago. He reminds you that was your first outing alone and while it wasn’t a technically a date, it had all the weight of one and then some. Circumstantial nerves, he says, and you say that ain’t a real damn thing and offer the cigarette again. He turns you down this time with a shake of his head, and tells you that he’s anxious in general, which he’s sure you already knew, so you nod. He tells you that he trusts you to an extent- same as he does Slick, he adds, like he’s trying to soothe any ruffled feathers, but that doesn’t stop him from being anxious about shit. You ain’t the kinda man whose feathers are gonna be ruffled from something like that, but you guess you appreciate the effort. You don’t say that. Instead, you say that might be the first fuckin’ sensible thing you’ve heard from him.

(You know he knows you’re dangerous, and you know it’d be a bad fuckin’ idea to trust you all the way anyhow. He’s as uninvolved as an involved person can be, you remind yourself, and even if he wasn’t you don’t think he’d be all that vulnerable ‘cause that ain’t who he is.)

He tells you that in terms of anxiety it mostly means in this case he worries about fucking things up with you, and that because he doesn’t know where your boundaries are he’s being careful. He tells you that he didn’t get a lot in the way of casual affection growing up, and you think this is a huge damn understatement for all that you know jack fuckin’ shit about what happened when he was growing up but you don’t say that, and he tells you that he doesn’t want to be too clingy or anything either.

That’s a lot of fuckin’ baggage, you say, and he says he’s not disagreeing with that. You repeat that when you’re not on the clock it’s fine, and that when you’re in private it’s also fine. Okay, he says, and you can see him fuckin’ gearing himself up before he leans back against you. Shoulder to shoulder, and you tell him he’s real tense, and he assures you that that’s his secret Cap, he’s always tense. You can believe that, if he’s getting wound so goddamn tight about just leaning on you some.

He finishes his water in another long gulp and puts the empty glass down on a coaster, and when you offer him the cig again he takes it this time. He gives the bathroom door a significant look and says Slick can never give him shit for how long his showers take, breathing the words out in a soft cloud of smoke. You shift some before taking the cigarette back, just so you can settle back onto the couch more comfortable with one arm across the back of it. It’s not quite an invitation, but Strider takes it anyway and shifts to settle in against your side, slouching low so his head is resting against your arm. You ain’t touching all that much but you decide that yeah, this is good, and you tell him that the boss is an impatient bastard and all but how long does he really take in the shower, since it seems like a damn specific complaint to have.

He sighs, deeply, and says that he likes to take his time and an hour or so is the average. You say what in the fuck does he do in there for so long, and he just shrugs. You feel it more than you see it. Relaxes, he guesses, and you say that you’re with Spades on this, that’s too fuckin’ long for a shower. You tell him to keep that shit to his own bathroom and don’t go running up your water bill, and you get to watch his lips twitch upwards for a fraction of a second before he says yessir.

You don’t think about how much you like hearing that one from him, especially since you know damn well he’s only saying it to be a smartass.

You tell him that you’re gonna teach him to shoot properly, and that he ain’t getting out of it. He says he’d like to try something that ain’t a rifle or a Beretta, and you say that can be arranged, although you want to know where he even got a Beretta to shoot. Ah, he says. Jake uses ‘em. Two. He adds that he almost got shot one time when they were dating, and that it was an accident, and you say that if you shoot him it won’t be an accident. He says he’s never been shot before so at least if he survives it he’ll have the novelty as a comfort. You wonder why he thinks he’s going to survive it, and he tips his head up to give you a smirk and says that he’d rather be decapitated if it comes down to it, and did you know that brain death takes a couple of minutes after the head’s severed even if unconsciousness kicks in within seconds. You did not know that. He tells you to invest in a guillotine, and you say do you look like Robespierre. He says no, you’re better dressed for one, and your lip curls up despite yourself. Yeah, you are, you agree. You’re also not fuckin’ French.

You don’t say that you think the whole decapitation thing is a damn strange fixation to have, or that you might feel kind of sick about doing that when it came down to it. You don’t like blades like the boss does- and apparently like he does-, and you think cutting off a head is too much mess for too little reward when a bullet to the brain would do the job. If you wanted messy you’d use your cuestick. You take a long drag off your smoke and think some about that pretty face of his bashed in and bloody and unrecognizable, and something twists in your chest. You don’t think about it too hard.

(You ain’t fond of him. You’re not.)

(You just don’t like waste, is all, and that’d be a waste without getting something good in exchange. If the boss told you to, you would ‘cause you know he’d have a reason. If you had to and the boss didn’t tell you to, you would, ‘cause you’d know you had a good reason.)

(You know he’d put up a fight. You know that maybe, deep down, some part of him’s expecting it. You know he trusts you to an extent but you don’t know how far that extent goes and you figure that’s something you gotta find out soon. When’s he gonna cut and run. What would it take. You wonder if the boss knows- you think Slick’d just ask, and you think Strider’d answer.)

You swap the cigarette back and forth in quiet until it’s done and you put it out on the ashtray on the coffee table, and you ain’t really looking at him for most of it. Not until you turn your head to find him looking at you, and you cock an eyebrow at him. What’s he looking at, you want to know. Nothing, he says. You, he says, after a second, and then looks away. This strikes you as a real sort of romcom move, and you tell him that just to watch disgust flicker across his face for a moment. Slick’s the tsundere, he tells you like you have any idea what that means, and of course the boss takes this chance to come out from the bathroom and ask what the fuck a tsundere is and there’s a hint of a smirk on Strider’s face so you know it’s gonna be the kind of answer that winds Spades right the fuck up.

It is, of course, but the bickering’s easy enough to tune out even if Slick staring you down ain’t as easy to ignore.

You have no clue what it is he finds when he looks at you this time around, only that he flings himself down on your other side close but not touching like usual and tells you to get a fuckin’ TV already like a normal goddamn person so he doesn’t have to stare at a blank fuckin’ wall the whole time he’s here.

This close, you feel more than hear the quiet exhale of what might be a laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally, this started out as me thinking 'wow it'd be kind of funny if Droog was the jealous one', and then ended up as a sort of examination of what happens in a relationship like this where there's just such different levels of progress. Droog and Slick have known each other for years, they don't need to talk to understand each other. Slick and Dirk have known each other for probably a few months by now, but they pretty much clicked organically and did some trauma bonding so they have the intimacy where you understand why someone is the way they is. Droog and Dirk, on the other hand, are still tiptoeing around each other A Lot, and that makes things Interesting, because they're both simultaneously newcomers to the whole thing- Droog's new to the thing between Slick and Dirk, and Dirk is extremely new to the thing between Droog and Slick (despite the allusions to the fact that he got pushy and sort of needled Slick into making a move that way), so they both know Slick (extremely well in Droog's case, and decently well in Dirk's) in ways that overlap but are still different, but they don't actually know each other. And god knows that Dirk Strider is awful at letting anyone in, ever, if they don't just bulldoze down his walls first, whereas Droog is slowly realizing that yes, he would like to be let in.
> 
> Tl;dr- I'm being self-indulgent about relationship dynamics.


End file.
